'Yes. One of the hire-swords with the horse traders my clan used to deal with-I think his name was Tedric. Why?'
Kethry unbuckled a small ornamental dagger from her belt and passed it to Kethry with exaggerated care. Tarma claimed it with the same caution-caution that was quite justified, since the 'dagger' was in reality Kethry's sword Need, no matter what shape it wore at the moment. Beneath the illusion, it still retained its original mass and weight.
'Now look at him.'
Tarma cast a surreptitious glance at the guard again, and her lips tightened. Even when it was done by magic, she didn't like being tricked. 'Mouse-brown hair and a ratty face,' she said. 'He changed.' She returned the blade to Kethry.
'And now?' Kethry asked, when Need was safely back on her belt.
'Now that's odd,' Tarma said thoughtfully. 'If he were using an illusion, he should have gone back to the way he looked before, but he didn't. He's still mousy and ratty, but my eyes feel funny-like something's pulling at them- and he's blurred a bit around the edges. It's almost as if his face was trying to look different from what I'm seeing.'
'Mind-magic,' Kethry said with satisfaction. 'So that's why I wasn't able to detect any spells! It's not a true illusion like I'm holding on us. They practice mind-magic a lot more up north, and I'm only marginally familiar with the way it works since it doesn't operate quite like what I've learned. If what I've been told is true, his mind is telling your mind that you know him, and letting your memory supply an acceptable face. He could very well look like a different person to everyone in the caravan, but since he always looks familiar, any of them would be willing to vouch for him.'
'Which is how he keeps sneaking into the pack-trains. He looks different each time, since no one is likely to 'see' a man they know is dead. Very clever. You say this isn't a spell?'
'Mind-magic depends on inborn abilities to work; if you haven't got them, you can't leam it. It's unlike my magic, where it's useful to have the Gift, but not necessary. Was he the same one you were watching?'
'He is, indeed. So your True Sight spell works on this 'mind-magic,' too?'
'Yes, thank the gods. What tipped you off to him?'
'Nothing terribly obvious, just a lot of little things that weren't quite right for the ordinary guard he's pretending to be. His sword is a shade too expensive. His horse has been badly misused, but he's got very good lines; he's of much better breeding than a common guard should own. And lastly, he's wearing jewelry he can't afford.'
Kethry looked puzzled. 'Several of the other guards are wearing just as much. I thought most hire-swords wore their savings.'
'So they do. Thing is, of the others, the only ones with as much or more are either the guard-chief, or ones wearing mostly brass and glass; showy, meant to impress village tarts, but worthless. His is all real, and the quality is high. Too damned high for the likes of him.'
'Now that we know who to watch, what do we do?'
'We wait,' Tarma replied with a certain grim satisfaction. 'He'll have to signal the rest of his troupe to attack us sooner or later, and one of us should be able to spot him at it. With luck and the Warrior on our side, we'll have enough warning to be ready for them.'
'I hope it's sooner.' Kethry sipped at the well-watered wine which was all she'd allow herself when holding spells in place. Her eyes were heavy, dry, and sore. 'I'm not sure how much longer I can hold up my end.'
'Then go to sleep, dearling.' Tarma's voice held an unusual gentleness, a gentleness only Kethry, Warrl, and small children ever saw. 'Furface and I can take turns on nightwatch; you needn't take a turn at all.'
Kethry did not need further urging, but wrapped herself up in her cloak and a blanket, pillowed her head on her arm, and fell asleep with the suddenness of a tired puppy. The illusions she'd woven would remain intact even while she slept. Only three things could cause them to fail. They'd break if she broke them herself, if the pressure of spells from a greater sorcerer than she were brought to bear on them, or if she died. Her training had been arduous and quite thorough; as complete in its way as Tarma's sword training had been.
Seeing her shiver in her sleep, Tarma built up the fire with a bit more dried dung (the leavings of previous caravans were all the fuel to be found out here) and covered her with the rest of the spare blankets. The illusions were draining energy from Kethry;
Tarma knew she'd be quite comfortable with one blanket and her cloak, and if that didn't suffice, Warrl made an excellent 'bedwarmer.' The night passed uneventfully.
Morning saw them riding deeper into the stony hills that ringed the desert basin they'd spent the day before passing through. The road was considerably less dusty now, but the air held more of a chill. Both Tarma and Kethry tried to keep an eye on their suspect guard, and shortly before noon their vigilance was rewarded. Both of them
